Conglomerate
by Resident Quetzal
Summary: A series of ficlets based on anything and everything in the FMAverse, though admittedly high in Roy-centered fic concentration. Ratings differ with chapters. Multiple pairings, or none at all.
1. Intro

_Introduction_

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Like all authors who are consistently plagued by plot bunnies that multiply as fast as the real ones, I have decided to create my own series of drabbles. I originally meant this to be a collection of drabbles inspired by 'stones', but then it fulfilled its namesake by morphing into a bunch of odds and ends that became cemented together. Thus, this series archives any random idea I have pertaining to Fullmetal Alchemist, be they drabbles, one-shots that I don't feel like making into individual stories, poems, songfics and such. Categories differ from humour to romance to angst, though I can safely say that this would be kid-friendly (since I don't trust my emotional maturity to write anything too citrus-y yet). Pairings differ, depending on my mood, but be warned that you'll probably see a lot of EdWin and RoyAi (as I cannot write a serious slash to save my life, and am a sucker for the canon pairings).

That aside, I present my works for your perusal and hopefully, appreciation.

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_Conglomerate_ /n., adj. kənˈglɒmərɪt, kəŋ-; v. kənˈglɒməˌreɪt, kəŋ-/ Pronunciation (n., adj. k_uh_n-**glom**-er-it, k_uh_ng-; v. k_uh_n-**glom**-_uh_-reyt, k_uh_ng-) noun, adjective, verb, -at·ed, -at·ing. : 

–**noun**  
_anything composed of heterogeneous materials or elements._

–**adjective**  
_consisting of heterogeneous parts or elements._

–**verb**  
_to collect or cluster together._

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	2. Pebble

**Title: Pebble**

**Prompt/Inspiration: The FMA cast trips on a stone. Credits to**** tInTiNthenut ****for sharing the idea.**

**Summary: Just a scenario on what would happen if a few FMA characters tripped/fell. Highly random.**

**Rating: T, for Ed's potty mouth**

**Warnings: Swearing aka usage of the F-word. Very slight spoilers for Chapter 69 of the manga.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own fma. Not now, not ever.**

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_Pebble_

_01._

Colonel Roy Mustang strode briskly down the hallway in extremely high spirits. His paperwork was done, his lieutenant was happy, he had a date with a hot chick that was actually part of his spy network who would be passing him some important information on the higher brass of the military and best of all, _it wasn't raining_. Really, life couldn't get any better… or worst, come to think of it.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Roy felt the toes of his left boot scuff against a protrusion on the floor of the corridor. He stumbled, lost his footing, and slammed against the cement surface on all fours. Boy, that sure did hurt.

Checking for injuries, he relaxed when he found nothing worst than a small red patch on the side of his palm. He got up hastily, glancing around surreptitiously to see if anyone had witnessed his brief moment of humiliation. Seeing no one, he glared at the little rock responsible for his woes before resuming his pace down the corridor. Tuneless whistling soon filled the hallway.

Roy amended his previous mental statement; accidents do happen. But it was still a good day.

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_02._

Sharp clicks of polished boots echoed off the spotless walls of Central HQ as Riza Hawkeye marched towards the administrative offices. In her arms she bore a towering stack of papers which had been the assigned work for the day,

Now, it just so happened that a section of that particular wing was undergoing renovation. As such, the area was in a mess, with many scattered pieces of debris lying around. As such, Riza never noticed the stray pebble jutting out of a crack in between the loose tiles, especially with her attention diverted by her load.

Consequently, there was a soft yelp followed by a 'thud'. Sheets of paper flew up into the air like a flock of white birds.

Regaining her footing, Riza retrieved the documents, murmured words of thanks to those who had stopped to assist her, and proceeded to her destination.

Being the right-hand woman of a certain colonel demanded loyalty and commitment. There was more work to be done if she planned on pushing him to the top.

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_03._

Edward Elric stormed furiously out of Central HQ's main entrance. The expression on his face was so dark that one could almost see the thunder clouds gathering. Their newest lead on the Philosopher's Stone had turned out to be a false alarm, and he had wasted an entire morning in Colonel Bastard's office listening to him spout his usual crap. Not to mention that five (six if you counted that unintentional hint) people had already commented on his general want of vertical height. Today was _not_ his day.

The Fullmetal Alchemist was too busy brooding to notice the unostentatious pebble in his way. Naturally, with it being a bad day and all, his foot connected and down he went.

"Whoa!" Not a very dignified exit for the young alchemist, who ended up sprawled in an ungraceful position at the base of HQ's steps.

Seething, Ed stood up and glowered at the pebble. He aimed a kick at it.

"Clack!" His automail foot sent it flying.

"Thunk!" The rock hit a nearby lamppost.

"Thwack!" It bounced off the wall…

"Thud!"

…and hit his head.

"-bleep-bleep-bleep- F-bleep-ing stone!!!!! –bleep-bleep-bleep-!!"

Today was _not his day_.

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_04._

A suit of armour crossed a road in steady steps, raising his head to gaze at the imposing military building before him. The steel plates clinked and clanked together, jingling out a cheerful tune. Something had made Alphonse Elric happy. So happy that he never saw that pebble until it was too late.

The fourteen-year-old landed face first onto the pavement amidst a loud rattle of metal. He lay there, dazed, until a thought brought him back to his senses.

"Captain Tiddles!"

Swiftly, Al sat up and unbuckled the leather straps of his breastplate. He yanked open the front of his armour and peered inside anxiously.

"Tiddles! Are you okay?"

A reassuring mew sounded from the dark interior, and a furry tabby head popped out. Tiddles meowed again and brushed a paw over her ears, looking none the worst after her supposed ordeal.

Al heaved a sigh of relief and re-buckled his front. Thank goodness she wasn't hurt! Now all he had to do was smuggle her onto their next train without his brother knowing…

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_00._

Black Hayate trotted past the mass of blue-clad people. A true dog of the military; his head was high, his tail was up, and he was marching with the perfect pace and posture.

That was when he saw the pebble lying innocently on the ground. It might look harmless, but an unwary person would soon learn otherwise.

(As a number of unfortunate souls have done before.)

Hayate was unconcerned. He was, after all, not one of those absent-minded humans. Sparing the rock a sniff, the black-and-white dog decided that it was not worth his time. A small leap took him over it and off he trotted, wagging his fluffy tail.

Behind him, the small pebble lay motionless. It might have been thwarted once, but it could still watch and wait for the next clumsy fool whose path it would cross.

_-End- _

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**A/N:** Very random, I admit. I'm going through a time period where bullying the FMA cast seems to be all the rage. My current plans seem to be targeted at Edward and Roy. 

Forward your thoughts via the little button below. They will be gathered up and worshipped fervently before being locked away safely in a gilded chest studded with shinning jewels (figuratively, of course).

- Quetz.


	3. Halloween Special

**Title: Halloween Special – The Staff is Far Mightier than The Sword**

**Prompt/Inspiration: The FMA cast fancy-dressing, as FF characters. I was bored.**

**Summary: Our military gang plus favourite two alchemists participate in the annual State Military Halloween Fest, according to a certain theme.**

**Rating: K+**

**Warnings: One swear word. Predictions of violence, of which will be left to the imagination.**

**Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is the property of Arakawa Hiromu, and Final Fantasy belongs to Square Enix.**

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_The Staff is Far Mightier than The Sword_

Colonel Roy Mustang sat at his desk with a look of intense boredom on his face. He idly twirled a pen and halfheartedly signed the document in front of him.

"Sir, the State Military Halloween Fest is coming in two day's time," Lieutenant Hawkeye reminded.

Mustang raised his head. "I am well aware of that."

"The men have requested me to tell you that they wish to dress up to a particular theme. Your costume has already been chosen."

"What?" Cue the raised eyebrow and quickened heartbeat. Statements like that always gave him ominous feelings.

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"What is this?" 

Lieutenant Havoc was already on his way to the men's locker room when he twisted his head back to reply. "It's your costume, Colonel."

"What?" Mustang's eloquent vocabulary had temporarily taken leave of him, but he was too bemused to care. All he could think about was the bundle of red-and-white cloth lumped on his desk.

"Just wear it, boss. Even Fullmetal's going along," his subordinate said, grinning through his cigarette. It might be due to his overactive imagination, but Mustang thought the grin appeared almost sharklike.

Left alone in his office, Mustang eyed the bundle and sighed. At least it wasn't something indecent (like a maid or kitty outfit – the horrors!), but there went his hopes of going in something that wouldn't make him look like a complete _dork_.

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They were already well into the merrymaking when the Flame Alchemist slunk into the ballroom, trying to remain unnoticed. Unfortunately, it didn't occur to the poor man (who was already stressed out as it was) that white contrasted greatly with black. Which meant that the more he tried to hide, the more he stood out. Come to think of it, that was probably the intent of whichever subordinate that orchestrated the whole affair. 

"There he is!" someone called out. "Colonel, get your ass over here so that we can complete our party!"

Mustang visibly deflated, but complied, dragging his feet like a reluctant child and greatly resembling a puppy with its tail between its legs.

"Our VIP's here!" Havoc called out, drawing his unfortunate superior to his side and thumping him on the shoulder a bit too enthusiastically. "The essential component of our group!" His fake armour plates rattled with his excited move and Mustang let loose a disgruntled mumble when their edges stuck into him. He did not, after all, have the fortune of coming in a hard outer covering. Havoc turned, and the blade of his (fake) axe whapped down on Mustang's head.

"Havoc, let up on the colonel," Hawkeye admonished while adjusting her tunic. A bow hung on her shoulder, and she sported a slim wooden quiver on her back. While rubbing the forming bruise on the back of his skull, Mustang hazarded a guess that costume or not, the arrows in it were sharp and pointy.

"I get your costume, Havoc, and even Hawkeye's," he protested weakly, gesturing to his white, flowing robes with their red triangular trimmings, "but a white mage? C'mon, you have to do better than that."

Havoc would probably have found a way to wriggle out of explaining, but as the circumstances went, he didn't have to even thing of one.

"HA! Is that Colonel Sarcasm I see? In sissy robes? As a white mage?"

"Let me die now," moaned Mustang as he dragged his hood over his head and sagged on Hawkeye's shoulder. She patted him comfortingly. Or perhaps that was her polite way of asking him to get off.

Edward and Alphonse Elric came up to the group, also decked in festivities. The Fullmetal Alchemist sported an elegant red feathered hat and was garbed in a red tabard and boots. A thin rapier hung from his belt, and he had managed to embroider the Flamel on the back of his flowing scarlet cape. Standing beside his brother, Alphonse was a contrasting presence, not merely because of the height difference, but also because his armour was a shinning white, with intricate patterns winding their way around the edges.

"I thought I'd like to join the fun," he explained shyly when he noticed their stares, lowering his head in abashment.

"You look good," Havoc said approvingly, and the younger Elric brightened visibly.

As for the elder, it was a different story all together.

"This is fantastic!" he gloated, laughing hysterically at Mustang's costume. "The great Flame Alchemist; reduced to a useless white pansy!"

In a flash Edward's rapier was in his hand, and he proceeded to wave it about as he continued his tirade. "Finally! Finally I can see Mustang stuck in a state where he has no offensive capabilities whatsoever! And it's not even raining!"

_...No offensive capabilities?_

His initial embarrassment and deathwish now replaced by annoyance, Roy Mustang was vindictively grateful that his staff was much sturdier and harder than that pig-sticker Ed called a sword.

_-End-_

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**A/N:** For those who don't play FF, the White Mage, aka healer, is the core of the party. Without one, the whole group can just go out and get wiped. This explains what Havoc says about Roy. The jobs go as follows: Roy - White Mage, Riza - Ranger, Havoc - Warrior, Edward - Red Mage, Alphonse - Paladin. The costume descriptions follow the artifact equipment of each class from FFXI, though Roy's is the traditional WHM hooded garb. He could have gotten it worse; the Devout's costume in the remade FFIII has kitty-ears. -grin- 

Happy Halloween to everyone! Sadly, I happen to be born and bred in a place where people don't acknowledge the existence of All Hallow's Eve. So no trick-or-treating for me, no matter how much I'd like to. Drop a review if you're not too busy amassing a horde of candy ;)

- Quetz.


	4. Blink

**Title: Blink**

**Summary: This is rather random, and abstract. A certain someone's thoughts on the events in the FMA manga, with main reference from the point his subordinates are transferred away and a what-if situation thereafter. Highly philosophical, reflective and angsty.**

**Rating: K+ to T, somewhere in between, but there's no observable violence and swearing so I suppose it's more on the K+ side, though it's a little dark-ish.**

**Warnings: Strangeness abound. Spoilers for the manga in general, if you've been keeping up. Character death; you've been warned.**

**Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is the property of Arakawa Hiromu. Otherwise it'd be renamed to 'Flame Alchemist' (jk).**

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_Blink_

It is a peculiarity of human beings to be able to live in a world where they wander around half-blind. Indeed, this is not limited singularly to the metaphysical aspect of 'not seeing', whose abstractness many have reached out to in attempt to give meaning, only to be met with inevitable failure. Nay, the blindness in concern is entirely on a physical scale.

Think about it: humans sleep a majority of the time, in a state which can be considered 'dead to the world'. Even in their waking hours, when they believe themselves to be alert and poised to face whatever the day could throw at them… Even then, for every five seconds, they are exposed. The impenetrable shield, the focused concentration, the clear image of the world and all that is in it… They are all shattered in a **blink**.

The elapsed time may be short, but many things can happen in a split-second. After all, tables have been turned, battles have been decided and lives have been lost within the _blink of an eye_.

An instant. An instant of vulnerability is all it takes.

He knew this. He was so closely entwined with the art of strategy that he could not fail to notice this tiny, seemingly insignificant detail. He was also knowledgeable enough to comprehend its importance, on a scale that is incomprehensible to the common man. And he used it to his advantage – for, against such impossible odds, one did have to make use of any resource – and crafted his own pieces on the chessboard laid before him. There had been too much at stake for him to lose.

It had worked before. His foes might be many times mightier than he, but to his credit, he had managed to wriggle under their guard many a time. Contrary to popular opinion, they were not all-seeing. Doctor Tim Marcoh had proven that when he had broken free of their ranks. The Ishbalan known as Scar was another, unforeseen hitch in their plans. And he could hardly keep track of the times when Edward and Alphonse Elric had clashed with them; not emerging victorious, certainly, but surprising them all the same. The armour-bond soul of Barry the Chopper was perhaps one of their greatest oversights, which had led to the eventual demise of one of their own. Agreed, that battle was not without cost on his side, but he had struck them a critical blow.

Things seemed to spiral out of control later, for he, too, was human, and thus was vulnerable to the weaknesses of his kind. In a flash, he had everything stripped from him, leaving him bare and helpless. But even then, he had managed to alert one of his closest and greatest allies, delve deeper into the mystery surrounding his enemy, discover their darkest secrets and eventually rip their well-woven façade into tattered shreds. All done in the moment they **blinked** and carelessly dropped their guards.

It was almost ironic that the so-called 'invincible' Homunculi would succumb to the same shortcomings as the _Homo sapiens_ race they so despised. But then again, they did have the same anatomical configuration as humans.

Now, the game was done. The battle was over, and it was time to clear out its vestiges. Had he won? Though his foe was gone, he wasn't so sure. He had paid too much, lost too much; so much so that any thoughts of victory left bitter tangs in his mind.

In the long run, he supposed it was a victory of sorts. The people of his country would no longer have to live in oppression, and he had, for the moment, halted any unnecessary wars. So there wouldn't be any further bloodshed and deaths. That was what he had worked for.

Not that it mattered. His past sins and bloodied hands spoke enough to assure his fate. Ever the strategist (or manipulator, as he had been dubbed by many); he had known what was coming even before the courts had pronounced his sentence.

So, he didn't resist when he was led forward to be lashed to the wooden pole. Instead of panic, he felt a calm sort of peace descend upon him, and marched forward with his head held high. Soon, very soon, he would be reunited with those whom he had lost in his oversight, when he had so thoughtlessly turned his eyes from them and **blinked**.

A strip of black was bound over his eyes, but his mind still saw clearly. **Un**blinkingly.

_/All he had to do was… /_

The polished rifle was lifted and aimed.

_/Once more… /_

It all happened in an instance.

_/Blink/_

And his eyes were shut forever.

_-End-_

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**A/N:** I truly have no idea what possessed me to write this. I actually finished this some time ago, but seeing that my other works don't seem to be progressing I though I'd just put this up. Reviews are appreciated. If you have no idea what was written then feel free to ask. The vibe of this ficlet has long since left me but I'll try to answer the best I can. Thoughts and interpretations of this are also welcome; I'd like to hear what the readers have to say.

-Quetz


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